The Regiment
by InquisitorMarek
Summary: James Bojin was in England visiting family and escorting the children back across the Atlantic. However, the Battle of Britain changed those ideas. Shipped off as part of the second wave over the beaches at Normandy, he linked up with the 43rd Infantry Regiment, 2nd Company. Note: Anything that appears here is a test bed for my other works. REVIEWERS ARE AMAZING PEOPLE!


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Central-Western Europa. Circa late 944.M2

"Willy, you 'wake lad?" the foreign and damned familiar voice drifted through James's sleeping mind as he tried to block everything out.

"Willy?"

The voice was louder this time, more insistent. But James knew it was bollocks freezing cold out, and didn't want to get out of his nice, wa-

"Willy, we've got Jerries."

James' eyes were open instantly. His mind snapped to razor sharp focus and clarity immediately, bringing him back to the unfortunate reality that he now lived in.

"The hell is goin' on?" James hissed as he began to untangle himself.

"Ah don' know. But Sarge jus' came by an' told us to get ready for some fun." He finally recognized the voice as his section leader, John St. Royal.

"Fuckin' hell," James breathed quietly as he quickly rolled up his sleeping bag and stowed it in his kit pack. "Didn' we just settle down?"

"Yea, 'bout a tenner ago. Remember what tha bugger eyed lads said?" As his eyes adjusted to the low light and his ears to the howling wind, James could pick out the rest of the veteran section against the frozen black dirt they hunkered behind. Harvie Dorian and Ken Emmett, both country boys, through and through. It was Harvie that spoke.

"They didn't say anythin', did they? I thought they were too spooked," Ken replied.

"Aye, they were. Said the tracks were too big for any tanks we a'lready blew to shite."

"Fuck..." James began to look around for his weapon. "The fuck did my rifle go?"

"Command gave us some upgrades. One of 'em was a flamer. It's yers."

"A flamer? I got the flamer? The damn thing's a death trap!"

"Bein' in a trench in this war 'as been a death trap. A little more risk won' kill ya. Too badly."

"GHET TEH FUCK UP YOU LAZY BASTARDS!" The shout resonated

A blast suddenly sent him flying against the wall of his newly dug and cozied into trench, and waking the bastard in question up. This meant only one thing.

Tanks.

"Enemie armor!" someone off to the left of the trench shouted before another blast rocked the earth beneath his feet.

"Shite!" William braced his Lee-Enfield against the bunker wall and sent a few rounds into the tank's armor.

"What kind is it?!" James shouted as a machine gun fire hit around them.

"The hell should I know?! I can' see shit!" William shouted back.

"Pick up and use the flares you stupid Yank!" Harvie shouted. "They're in a box over there!"

"Flares?!" James tripped over the box in the dark as he was struggling to see over the trench wall and not get shot in the back, where the flamer tanks now presented a nice reflective target.

"God damnit! Yes! You fucking use the bastards to see fucking Krauts at night!" William shouted. A German soldier briefly popped up before dropping like a sack of bricks after William pulled the trigger on his Enfield.

"Flares out!" James popped the caps on three of them and tossed them into a rough triangle in front of the trench. And no one liked what they saw.

There had been rumors. Rumors of a tank, larger than the Tigers found in Normandy. Much larger. Apparently the Russians were having the devil of a time trying to kill these bastards even with their own guns.

He had hopes the Russians were just pulling the wool over their eyes to send them more equipment. But, like his da said, hoping is one method. Preparing is another.

Unfortunately, neither method worked. The tank before him was truly...not a tank, James realized as two gouts of flame erupted from the sides of the half track.

"Eat dirt you buggers!" William dove for the floor, and James tried to be one with the ground.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

It was a shout James didn't want to hear. Not from Ken. The large nobleman from central England was on fire, and he was flailing about, with Harvie trying to keep him at a safe distance.

"FUCK! GET HIM OFF ME!"

James reached into his pocket and pulled out the Luger he'd taken from some German scouts they'd shot earlier. With a quick swing of his arm, he brought it level with Ken's head and ended the dying man's pain.

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++Thought for the Day: Those who do what they despise in the name of faith are truly blessed++

++Ammendum, Inquisitor Marek++

Greetings all, I just got into the COH2 Voidship, and by the Thrones of Terra is it good! The British Army is quite well suited to my decidedly defensive playstyle, and I enjoyed them greatly. Once I figured out how to work the damn thing of course.

Now, this is a little one shot, it won't be very long. More of a test of my own abilities as a writer than for the sake of Company of Heroes, as much as I like them. Thus, anything you see here will be critiqued and fixed for any action scene in my other works.

Think of this as a psyker's foresight. Now then.

Strive forth in the name of the Emperor! Rate and Review! Earn His favor!

Inquisitor Marek

Ordo Xenos

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